


seventy two hours

by Areiton



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Getting Together, M/M, Past Mike/Rachel, before Danbury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 11:16:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: He can't remember walking out of chambers or even to the car.He can hear Harvey and Gibbs arguing, but its distant and unimportant.72 hours.A hand is heavy and grounding between his shoulders and he blinks at Harvey.





	seventy two hours

_72 hours._

He can't remember walking out of chambers or even to the car.

He can hear Harvey and Gibbs arguing, but its distant and unimportant.

_72 hours._

A hand is heavy and grounding between his shoulders and he blinks at Harvey.  

Harvey.

Who has always appeared untouchable and confidant and now--now looks shaken, sweaty and terrified.

How the hell had that even happened?

They're almost back at the office, Harvey already barking into his phone and putting his masks back in place--his hand between them on the seat trembles and for some reason that sticks in Mike's mind--when he says, “I need to go home.”

Harvey doesn't argue.

If he had any doubts about how much shit he was in, that certainly lays them to rest.

 

 _68 hours_.

Rachel says she needs the day but he knows--it's not the day.

It's over.

It's been slowly shattering since Logan came back, and they've both been clinging on, holding so tight they strangled away what was left of them.

He packs up some of his shit but its just to keep his hands from shaking. Its just to eat up time.

_72 hours._

He takes get through a bottle of wine and three boxes and leaves because this ghost of failed life isn't what he wants.

  


_59 hours._

He's shivering when he knocks and there's a moment when his stomach twists, knots up in worry.

Rachel left and that--that stings. But it was expected.

But if _he_ leaves.

He doesn't think he could handle that.

He knocks again and the door swings open and Harvey stares at him, backlit by the setting sun and for the first time since the gavel came down in that damn courthouse--he feels settled. Like he can breath.

“Mike,” Harvey breathes, and pulls him inside.

 

_58 hours._

He emerges from the shower in a billowy cloud of steam and for a long time, he just stands there, in the quiet opulence of Harvey’s bathroom, the water dripping on the tile behind him, and a pair of faded Harvard sweats folded tidily on the counter.

He takes a breath and it caches, sticks in his throat, makes him choke as he leans over, braces both hands on the sink and tries desperately to keep quiet as he loses his shit.

It doesn’t work.

He isn’t sure if he’s more embarrassed that Harvey bangs into the bathroom and finds him naked, or that he finds him crying.

He only knows that Harvey finds him, and doesn’t even slow, doesn’t do anything but pull Mike into his arms and hold him as Mike shakes and sobs.

He wants Harvey to reassure him, and the older man doesn’t.

He doesn’t say anything at all, just holds Mike there, a hand at the nape of his neck, grounding and solid and everything Mike has come to rely on.

 

_57 hours._

His eyes are red and he’s naked and shivering, and the steam has dissipated, when he pulls back to peer up at Harvey.

Harvey who is always perfectly polished and controlled, who always has an answer and a fix to every problem--he’s standing here now, wet from holding Mike, hair a mess, and his eyes.

His eyes have always been how Mike reads him, expressive and dark, the window to everything Harvey locks away.

He’s looking at Mike now, such grief and devastation in his eyes that it takes Mike’s breath away.

It feels real, suddenly, in a way it hadn’t before.

“We can’t fix this,” he whispers and Harvey flinches.

“Mike,” he says, soft, wrecked and Mike shakes his head.

And kisses him.

 

_55 hours._

It’s slow.

It’s achingly slow, and he hides his face in the pillows as Harvey stretches him, because he doesn’t want Harvey to see the tears in his eyes.

He doesn’t want to see them in Harvey’s.

“Please,” he whispers, and Harvey shifts, understanding him the way Harvey _always_ understands him.

“ _Please,”_ Mike says again, and Harvey’s fingers twist with his.

The first press _in_ takes his breath, the second steals his voice, and by the third, he can’t do anything but cling to Harvey’s fingers and _feel._

  


_48 hours._

He wakes up to the sensation of Harvey’s lips on his shoulder and the dip of the bed. He flails out a hand and catches Harvey’s. “Don’t go,” he mumbles into the pillow and Harvey makes a barely there laugh.

“I’m going to get you food.”

Mike grumbles, but releases Harvey’s hand and watches as he pads out of the room.

He’s glaring at his phone, and Mike feels his stomach dip and tug.

Harvey is leaning against the counter when Mike pads out of the bedroom, sleep hazy but gaze sharp.

“I want you to stop,” he says, and Harvey’s head snaps up. “Just--stop. You can’t keep this from happening.”

“I can try,” Harvey says, low and desperate and Mike steps into his space, slips his arms around Harvey’s waist and burrows as deep as he can go.

“We did try,” he mumbles. “I need you to stop. I don’t want to spend my last few days racing around trying to stop the inevitable.”

Harvey stares at him, his lips tightening. “Give me eight hours.”

There’s a knock on the door and Mike lets Harvey go. He’s quiet while they unpack the sushi, and finally catches Harvey’s gaze.

“Eight hours. And then we stop, even if we haven’t found a way out. Deal?”

Harvey looks like he wants to fight. He can see it on the tip of his tongue. But he nods and Mike leans in to kiss him, short and hard before he sits back. “Tell me what you need.”

 

_40 hours._

Eight hours. Harvey throws himself into the work, and because Mike made a promise--he does too.

It won’t work. He knows it won’t.

He thinks Harvey probably knows too. But they put on clothes, and pull up everything they can about the case, dig into Gibbs, go on a fucking mousehunt for a loophole that will get Mike out of what he knows is inevitable.

Donna shows up, with files and red eyes and Mike looks at her, and for the first time, Rachel’s name hovers on the tip of his tongue. She smiles for him, weak and watery and gives a tight little nod, and then gives her attention to Harvey. “Let me help.”

He does.

And the hours tick away, a little at a time, a slow cascade that itches at Mike’s skin because it’s all a waste of time. This isn’t how he wants to spend these hours.

This isn’t want he wants.

 

_39 hours._

The eight hour mark comes and goes, and Harvey leaves the room, retreats to shower, and Mike--Mike should pack up the boxes and papers, put it away and insist on what he wants.

He doesn’t.

“He isn’t going to handle it well,” Mike says and Donna stirs next to him.

“No,” she says, a quiet agreement and he closes his eyes.

“I--take care of him, will you? Make sure he knows, it’s not his fault.”

“Mike,” she whispers and he smiles, this small, sad thing that is almost pleading. Her expression goes gentle and broken. “Ok, puppy.”

He nods, and goes to find Harvey. When he comes back out, the papers have been tidied and left waiting for them--and Donna is gone.

 

_36 hours._

“You have to stop,” Mike says, gently.

Harvey looks at him, and Mike touches his hand. “I need you to stop.”

“And I need you to not go to jail,” Harvey says. “So just--look through--”

“No,” Mike says, simply.

“Mike--”

“Harvey I said eight hours. I gave you eight _hours_ for this. Do you know how many I get? Seventy two. And we threw away _twelve_ on shit that won’t _change anything.”_

“It would if you didn’t give up,” Harvey shouted and Mike flinched back. Harvey is staring at him, so furious, suddenly he can’t sit still, bursts up to pace. “You--goddammit, you _gave up._ ”

“Fuck you,” Mike whispers, harshly.

“You gave up--I told you I’d fix it and you just--you made that goddamn plea deal and you gave up.” Harvey is panting, his shoulders heaving, these desperate little hitches that are shattering Mike. “You gave up on me, Mike, you gave up--”

Mike surges off the couch and into Harvey’s space, into his arms and cuts off his panicked babble with a harsh biting kiss. Harvey whimpers, this broken noise that makes Mike’s hands clench, convulsive on on his hips. “You gave up,” Harvey gasps, tears are on his cheeks now, and Mike shakes his head.

“I would never give up on us.”

 

_33 hours._

Harvey is sleeping, when his phone rings, one arm thrown possessively over Mike’s hips, holding him still and close.

He stretches, and snags the phone, and his stomach drops when he sees her name, there in little glowing letters.

 

_Rachel_

 

He supposes it’s not surprising.

She said a day, and it’s been--that.

He swallows hard as it buzzes again, and Harvey mumbles, “Answer it.”

He looks at Harvey, sleep tousled and softer than he had ever seen before and thinks he’s always obeyed, when it really mattered. Might as well, still.

“Hello?”

 _“Mike! Where are you?”_ She sounds almost startled and he wonders if it’s because she hoped he wouldn’t answer, or if she hoped he wouldn’t.

“Harvey’s. I needed to get out.”

A beat of silence then, _“I came here looking for you.”_

A subtle accusation and he almost laughs. Harvey’s grip and gaze steadies him and he says, gently, “Why?”

“ _Why?_ Why _what?”_

“Rachel,” he starts.

“ _Don’t,”_ she snaps, “ _don’t you dare.”_

He’s quiet and then, “I think we both know this wasn’t going to last. Maybe it would have, if I didn’t--but Rachel--”

“ _Mike,”_ she almost shouts, shrill with distress and he winces.

Harvey takes the phone, and he feels detached, almost out of body as he lets him, as he burrows into the pillows. He hears from very far away, “Rachel, you need to give him some space.”

He can’t hear what she says, and he thinks that’s probably for the best.

“I’ll tell him,” Harvey says, in that noncommittal voice that says no way in hell is she getting what she wants. Mike’s worked with Harvey long enough to know that voice.

Rachel has too.

He looks pensive as he lowers the phone. “She doesn’t like me very much.”

Mike laughs, and Harvey gives him a startled smile, and Mike pulls him close, a task made easy by Harvey’s easy capitulation.

“I don’t want to think about her,” he whispers and pulls Harvey into a kiss that makes every thought vanish.

 

_28 hours._

“We should go out,” Harvey says. Mike, tracing patterns on his bare back hums and Harvey wiggles, enough that it makes Mike huff and bite at him. Harvey snarls and flips them, straddling Mike, eyes burning and Mike grins at him, feeling lighter than he has since this started.

“I don’t want to,” he says, and drags Harvey down into a kiss, nipping at his lower lip.

Harvey allows it, licking into Mike’s mouth with a hungry groan that goes straight to Mike’s dick, his fingers digging into Mike’s hair, gripping and _tugging_ , just right. Mike arches, whining prettily and Harvey smirks. “You don’t want to right now. But you’ll appreciate it, later. And I know you’re young and pretty, but I’m not--I need a while before I fuck you again.”

He rolls away, batting Mike’s grabby hands away. “Get dressed, rookie.”

 

_24 hours._

It’s...fun.

Harvey takes them to a steakhouse, a place Mike’s never been before, and it’s--nice. There’s no need for suits and ties, no pretension and performance. It’s just a busy restaurant, and them, tucked into the back, and one of the best steaks he’s ever had.

Harvey makes him laugh, tells him stories he’s never heard about Harvard and growing up, about playing baseball and the days when he was a cocky asshole in the mailroom, and Jessica changed it all.

It’s soothing, and for a while, between dinner and Harvey’s soothing voice, the wine and his steady steady eyes--Mike forgets.

 

_19 hours._

He wakes up early, while the sky is still painted black and peers at Harvey.

Dark eyes are watching him, silent and for a moment, Mike can see it, how _scared_ he is.

He’s been doing everything to appear even keeled, like if he’s ok--Mike will be.

And it’s worked.

When Harvey is relaxed and content--if not quite _happy--_ Mike can be. He can push aside the reality looming.

Right now--he can’t.

Right now--Harvey is staring and his expression is blatantly devastated and Mike makes a soft, wondering noise, before he stretches up and kiss Harvey.

They don’t talk. Harvey’s eyes stay steady on him, his hands greedy against Mike’s skin, even while Mike shifts and settles in Harvey’s lap, as he licks into Harvey’s mouth and bites at his lip, as he grinds down against him, pulling a gasping groan from the older man.

They don't talk. Harvey just holds on to him, like he’s afraid if he let’s go, Mike will vanish, and Mike leans into him, sighs as he takes Harvey in with a smooth rolling stroke, presses their foreheads together as he rolls his hips and rides Harvey, slow. Tears burn in his eyes, and words press against his lips, and he kisses Harvey to keep them at bay, and Harvey let’s him, holds him as they rock together.

 

_16 hours._

They get three boxes into packing up Mike’s apartment before Harvey tosses the box aside and gives him an impatient look. “I can have someone do this.” His look goes earnest and pleading. “Don’t _worry_ , Mike, I’m--I’ll take care of everything.”

Mike tilts his head, studying the older man.

The best closer in New York and he’s going to be handling Mike’s legal affairs while Mike sits in prison. Seems almost like a waste, but there’s no way he’d ever tell Harvey that.

He’d never want anyone else to do it.

Still. Harvey is watching him, gaze almost pleading and Mike caves.

“Something you’d rather do?” Mike asks, and Harvey grins. Pulls him from the couch that doesn’t really feel like his, and pushes him down into a big bed that still smells like Rachel.

Harvey settles over him. “As a matter of fact,” he murmurs, before leaning in for a truly filthy kiss.

 

_15 hours._

After, still sticky and sore, with bruises on his wrist that he wants to never fade, wrapped up in Harvey’s arms--he sleeps.

Harvey will keep watch while he sleeps.

 

_12 hours._

He wakes in the night, alone, and for a heart stopping second he doesn't know where he is. He only knows _dark_ and _alone._

And that this--this is what he has to look forward to.

The panic attack doesn't just hit him. It slams into him, so hard and fast he's curled up and gasping before he can even process he's _having_ one, and as black spots dance in his vision he struggles to _breathe._

A hand is on his back, rubbing soothing circles. A voice is crooning in his ear and lips move in his hair and when he finally can breath again, he turns into Harvey and silently sobs.

 

_10 hours._

They meet Jessica and Louis for coffee.

Harvey isn’t happy about it, but he puts on a good face, and Mike is absurdly grateful.

“We’re going to fix this,” Louis says, and--it helps.

Even knowing that he made Harvey stop, even knowing that they can’t actually fix anything--it helps.

Jessica is watching him, her eyes large and dark and smile serene and unfazed makes his breath settle, and he leans back in his chair next to Harvey. He isn’t sure when that smile stopped being threatening and became something you could count on, something that was coldly reassuring, as reassuring as Harvey’s smirk and steady place at his side.

“We knew this would happen, one day,” Mike says.

“We’ll fix it,” Jessica says and Mike can’t help it.

“ _Why?”_

She gives him that sphinx smile and says, “You’re family, Mike. And we take care of our family.”

 

_5 hours._

“Do you want to go to the office?”

Harvey looks at him, like he isn’t sure what to do, and Mike knows--he can feel it too.

The time, counting down.

He doesn’t want to think about that, doesn’t want to think at all.

He knows what’s waiting at the office.

Louis, Jessica, Donna.

Rachel.

He closes his eyes and leans his head into Harvey’s shoulder, and says, softly. “No. I--can we go home?”

Harvey’s hand, threading through his hair, kind of spasms, and he smiles, presses it into Harvey’s shoulder.

“Yeah, kid. Of course.”

 

_4 hours._

Mike is playing with Harvey’s fingers, blunt thick fingers that seem so strong and capable when he’s in a courtroom or driving, that seem so strong and implacable when he’s in the boxing ring--and now are gentle, wrapped around his hip and holding him close, eyes soft while he watches Mike trace his fingers.

“I don’t regret it,” he says, and Harvey’s eyes go wide.

“Even after everything,” Mike goes on, his voice shaking just a little, “I’d do it again--all of it, with you.”

“Mike,” Harvey says, and Mike kisses him, desperate, because there’s words, burning to be said, and he can’t he can’t, he won’t do that to Harvey.

He kisses him, and let’s Harvey roll him into the sheets, clinging when Harvey pushes into him, eyes squeezed shut while Harvey fucks him, and he wonders, for the first time, panic clawing at the pleasure, how he’ll survive two years without this.

 

_3 hours._

Mike brings Harvey breakfast, bagels and scrambled eggs and bacon. He lets Harvey feed him bites of eggs, bits of bacon and fruit, and sips at the coffee as time ticks away.

“You should shower,” Harvey says, “before we go.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” Mike says.

Harvey looks at him, patently disbelieving, and Mike nods. Curls closer to Harvey and says, his voice almost even, “Soon. Just a little longer, ok?”

Harvey smiles at him, a heartbreaking little thing, and says, “Yeah, ok, baby.”

 

_2 hours._

They don’t talk, in the car.

Harvey holds him, and Mike stares, unblinking, into nothing. Until his eyes burn and the sensation of floating, the feeling of being lost and disconnected was held at bay only by Harvey’s arms around him.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, and Harvey’s grip on him spasms.

“It’s not,” he insists. Harvey doesn’t argue.

 

0 hours.

It’s only when he’s standing outside the prison, the air cold and the sun unfairly bright, and Harvey looks at him, that he feels like he’s going to break.

Like he can’t do this.

“I would do it all again, too,” Harvey says.

And Mike can breathe.

Because he knows what he meant, when he said those words.

And he knows what Harvey means.

He smiles at Harvey, once, and walks inside.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](%E2%80%9Dwww.areiton.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)


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